


This is the Death Place

by ChocolateCoconut



Category: The Good Place (TV), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canon Related, Crossover, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, frozen yogurt - lots and lots of frozen yogurt, holy forkin' shirtballs, no one wanted this but I'm giving it to you anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25999624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateCoconut/pseuds/ChocolateCoconut
Summary: When Klaus Hargreeves dies, he doesn't go to a monochromatic village presided over by a young girl on a bicycle. Instead, he arrives in an obnoxiously chipper town overseen by a gangly man in a peacock bow tie.An Umbrella Academy story set in the Good Place universeSpoilers for up to episode 1.7 of The Umbrella Academy and kinda-sorta roundabout spoilers through episode 1.13 of The Good PlaceUPDATE: I'm back on my bullshirt with a second chapter featuring Five. Later chapters will add more Hargreeves siblings and Good Place characters.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 36
Kudos: 181





	1. Fork this

Klaus finds himself seated in a room with one very peculiar design choice:

A white wall embellished with green font declaring “Welcome! Everything is fine.”

The last thing he can remember is falling and striking his head on the marble floor of a nightclub, but yeah ok… sure. This is fine.

“Klaus?” comes a voice from a door that’s just opened up to his right. “Come on in.”

He turns to see a silver fox of a man who’s even taller than himself and almost as gangly. Klaus supposes he’d hit that, though ideally, the man would be younger by a few decades and lose the bow tie, which screams of pretentiousness. 

He motions Klaus into an adjoining room, plops down behind a desk, and invites Klaus to join him on the other side.

He stares at Klaus expectedly, as if this is the start of an AA meeting and it’s Klaus’s turn to “share.” Ugh.

“Ok, look,” Klaus tries. “I’m rather flattered you invited me in, you’re a fine-looking man, but I don’t actually remember how we met — no offense, I’m rather forgetful, I live a big life — or how we ended up at uh… is this your home?”

“No.”

“So where—?”

Anderson Cooper's tall doppelganger holds up a hand. “I’m afraid I have good news and bad news. Which would you prefer to hear first?”

Huh, now that sounds kinky. “Surprise me.” He winks.

The man isn’t fazed. “You, Klaus Hargreeves, are dead. Your life on Earth has ended and you are now in the next phase of your existence in the universe.”

“Oh. And the bad news?"

“That _was_ the bad news.”

“Right,” Klaus chuckles. “So, the good then?”

“In the afterlife, there is a Good Place… and a Bad Place. Klaus, you...” he leans forward “...are in the Good Place.”

“Heaven? Moi?” 

He gets a nod.

Klaus slaps his own leg. “Wahoo, check me out!” He stands up (jumps, really), eager to get out of this drab room and explore the wonders awaiting him here. Will there be endless buffets? Closets filled with tailored leather pants and hot naked butlers to help him into them? Drugs (not that he really needs them here, but still)?

“Hey man!,” Klaus reaches his hand over the desk to give Professor Bow tie (god??!) a high five, knocking various knick-knacks over in the process. “I appreciate the ‘lil… orientation. Truly. It’s been real dandy, uh...”

“Michael.”

“Hugs and kisses, Mikey.” He blows a kiss his way. “Now, without further adieu, I think I’ll be off on my merry way to explore the pleasures of the after-world!”

But as Klaus turns to leave, he notices… himself. Or rather, a ridiculously large, lifelike painting of himself at about age 14.

“Why do you have a picture of me on your wall? Obsessed much?”

“Ah,” Michael removes his glasses and clasps his hands together. “Well, you’re pretty famous around here.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“You probably don’t remember this but one night, in 2003, you got really really high on mushrooms, and your brother Ben said, ‘Hey, what do you think happens after we die?’ And you launched into this long monologue where you got like 92 percent of how the afterlife works correct.” Michael laughs. “I mean, we couldn't believe what we were hearing! We knew you could chat with ghosts and all, but you somehow guessed what happens _after_ human souls head into the light, too.” 

“Well,” Klaus brushes a curl behind his ear, “a pretty face and ass aren’t all I’ve got going for me.”

Michael smiles. “Let me join you outside. Give you a tour around your new home.”

* * *

They wander through a quaint little town — or at least a space that _looks_ like an earthly town — and Klaus immediately spots something thrilling: a frozen yogurt shop. Perfect! He might be dead but somehow his tummy’s still a rumblin’ like mad. So, he asks Michael if he’ll be his literal sugar daddy and buy him some fro yo.

Michael chuckles. “You don’t need money here, Klaus.”

“Score one for death.” 

They head inside and gaze upon an enormous menu. Forget Baskin-Robbins and its 32 flavors; this place has at least 200 choices.

Klaus studies it for a few minutes (honestly the most reading he’s probably bothered with in years, save Vanya’s book) then approaches the counter.

“I shall have a, wait — how many flavors can fit in the extra-extra-large-and-in-charge doubled-dipped chocolately cone?”

“Infinity minus three flavors” answers a woman sporting the name “Vicky” on her nametag.

“In that case, I’ll have the toasted everything bagel, skinny dipping, free concert t-shirt, single word of validation from your dad, pina colada, surprisingly decent first kiss and… uh, let’s go with waffles. Swirled.”

“Any toppings?”

Klaus examines the menu again. “Give me the sibling-admits-you’re-right-flavored sprinkles. And a dollop of a-good-nights-sleep hot fudge.”

“Make that two.” Michael says, and they settled down outside with their identical orders, near a man with the highest, prettiest, and sharpest cheekbones Klaus has ever seen. Too bad he’s dressed as a monk. 

“So,” Michael twirls his spoon. “Would you like to know how you ended up here?” 

“Pffft, nah. You can spare me the gritty details of my young and chaotic death.”

“I don’t mean how you died — which yes, was tragic, sorry — I mean how you ended up in the Good Place… instead of…” He points down and whistles.

“Is it because I’m too hot even for hell?”

“Clever but no. See, the afterlife operates around a complex points system. During your time on Earth, every one of your actions carried a positive or negative value, depending on how much good or bad that action put into the universe. Upon your death, we immediately calculate the total value of your life. Only the people with the very highest scores, the cream of the crop, get to come here… to the Good Place.”

“Makes sense. My crops are the creamiest.”

“Right…” Michael squints. “Would you like to know your highest scores then? What truly pushed you over the top to earn your rightful place here?”

“Sure. Hit me up.”

Michael leans back and shouts into the air. “Grace!”

There’s a soft “ding” and a blonde woman appears beside them, wearing a matching purple vest-skirt set atop a pastel blouse. She smiles widely at Klaus, showing off bright white teeth. “Hi there!”

“Mom?!”

“Not you mom.” 

And Klaus knows that must be true, for this Grace is somehow even more chipper and non-pulsed than the robot who raised him. 

“Oh. Well, if it helps, my mother was a robot, too. Maybe you’re related?”

“Not a robot,” Grace insists.

“Grace,” Michael guides the conversation back. “Bring me Klaus Hargreeves’s file, please.”

“Klaus’s file — coming right up.” Ding! A file appears in her left hand, which she passes over to Michael.

“Thank you, Grace.”

“You’re welcome, Michael. Bye, Klaus!” She waves, _dings_ , and is gone. 

Michael rummages through the file. “Let’s see, let’s see. Wow, yes, lots of impressive stuff. Says here you helped stop several armed bank robberies as a child! That’s 41,623 points. You also were always quick to compliment and comfort your siblings — 3,781 points. And you once... gave a makeover to your family’s monkey butler?!” He laughs. “I haven’t seen that one before. Neat! 603 points. You also helped a woman named Zoya Popoya to accept her death, stood loyally by your fellow soldiers in Vietnam, and even rocked many skirts and dresses, subverting the gender binary. Good for you!”

“Dánke. It’s nice to have a fan.”

“Now let’s get into the real heavy hitters.” Michael flips more pages. “You worked as an anti-drug motivational speaker, inspiring thousands of vulnerable teenagers to just say no — 582,099 points. You started an international charity for blind and diabetic kittens in your dearly departed father’s name, donated a kidney — wait no, sorry, _both_ of your kidneys, yikes — to a random stranger, and helped a friend escape a cult. Those all brought you over one million points!”

Klaus doesn’t blink, though he thinks he might pass out. “Yeah, yeah… you got me there. I did all… all those things.”

Michael beams. “You sure did! Otherwise, you surely wouldn’t be here. Trust me, we’re extraordinarily selective. Won’t want any riff-raff accidentally sneaking in here.”

Klaus just nods, while “fuck” repeats over and over and over in his brain. Or rather, he _tries_ to think of the word “fuck.” Instead, it comes out as “fork.” 

Fork. Fork. Fork.

“So,” Michael clasps his hands together and stands up. “Want to see your new house?”

“My house?”

* * *

The walk for several minutes, Michael droning on and on about the many amazing amenities of the Good Place. (Flying lesson! Talking puppies! Bottomless shrimp cocktails!) Klaus keeps quiet, fearing that his loud mouth will reveal him as no heavenly angel; he’s really just sexy trash — a weak, selfish man who only did a small fraction of the things listed in his file.

Finally, Michael stops and puts his hands on Klaus's shoulders. "In the Good Place, every person gets to live in a home that perfectly marches their deepest, most primal dreams and desires — a perfect nest where they can experience true bliss and comfort. This..." he spins Klaus around and points to a building in the distance, perched on the greenest grass Klaus has ever seen (or smoked), "...is yours."

Klaus feels nauseous, the frozen yogurt threatening to make its way back out of his mouth. For the house in front of them is... the Umbrella Academy mansion. Or at least, a perfect replica of it, from the entry gates to the rooftop. And Michael expects him to like — nay, _love_ — it. 

“Head inside now,” Michael prompts. “He’s waiting for you.”

“He?”

Michael smiles cryptically. 

_Dave?!_ Klaus hadn’t paid too much attention to Michael’s one-man monologue on the way over but he did catch _something_ about soulmates. 

Dave is _his_ , isn’t he? Klaus’s soulmate. And he’s been waiting for Klaus in the afterlife. No wonder Klaus hadn’t been able to conjure Dave’s ghost earlier! He’s been waiting for them to start their happily-ever-after death together.

Klaus practically frolics through the grass, past the gates of the Good Place Umbrella Academy, Michael on his tail.

“Dave?” he calls out, entering the hall. “Honey, I’m home!”

No response.

He searches the other rooms — the kitchen, the library, the living room, even all the siblings’ bedrooms, and his father’s office. 

No Dave. No one.

“Try the barbershop,” Michael suggests.

“The barbershop?! We don’t have a barbershop."

“Then what’s that room there?” Michael points beyond the bar — to a room that definitely doesn’t exist in the real, Earth-bound Hargreeves mansion.

Intrigued, Klaus walks forward. And sure enough, he finds himself in an old-fashioned barbershop, complete with bar stools, mirrors, and a checkered floor.

“Have a seat,” Michael prompts.

Klaus eases himself into a chair near the middle. “Dave?” he calls out again while using the mirror to fluff up his curls a bit. "Darling and dearest?"

No Dave appears. But a hot towel is tossed over Klaus’s face, then firmly pressed into his skin.

“Ah, so you’re making me pretty before the big lovers’ reunion, huh, Mikey? You know, I’ve always wondered what I’d look like with blonde highlights.”

Michael doesn’t respond. Someone else does — someone Klaus had hoped to never hear again in his life, nevermind his death. 

“Hello, Number Four.”

Dad.

Klaus slowly removes the towel and sure enough, his father is behind him — looking as smug, angry, and ready-to-toss-out-trauma-like candy as ever. 

And that’s how Klaus knows that something is deeply, deeply wrong. More wrong than dying. More wrong than Dave not being here. More wrong even than the Good Place mistakenly letting him in. 

For there is _no way_ that Sir Reginald Hargreeves, abusive father of the millennium, made it into the Good Place. No clinical error could allow for that. Klaus must be getting pranked.

He whips around to meet Michael’s eyes. “ _This_ is the Bad Place. Isn’t it?”

Michael looks shocked — upset to be accused of such a notion — for just the briefest moment. But then, his eyes crinkle, he opens up his mouth, and he unleashes a cartoonishly sinister laugh. If this were a childhood mission and Michael were the evil mastermind behind a plot the Umbrella Academy was seeking to foil, Klaus would ask Ben to unleash the Horrors upon Michael.

But before Klaus can respond in any way, Michael turns on his heel, closes the barbershop door — and _click_ , Klaus is locked inside with his father.

“Fork."  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if this works horribly or surprisingly well... but I couldn't get the idea outta my mind after I happened to watch several episodes of both shows in one day. So, here - now it's in your mind, too.


	2. This is such bullshirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five arrives. As usual, he is not happy.

  
Five hadn’t expected to die.

Well, he wasn’t a lobotomized moron; he knew he’d die eventually. 

He just hadn’t thought it’d to be today — while he was in the middle of trying to prevent the apocalypse. Again. 

It was quite inconvenient really.

And all because he decided to take a moment to sit down and consume a proper, non-coffee-based meal. Him, a legendary assassin — brought down by a damn Grape Nut obstructing his throat. 

And now he’s in some obnoxiously cheery room with a bright green sign reading “Welcome! Everything is fine.”

Ugh. Apparently even the dead can get headaches. 

“Young man?” asks an older man — or rather, a guy who looks to not be much senior to Five in actuality — who appears in the door frame. “Come on in.”

Five follows him, if only to give the stranger a literal kick-in-the-pants for talking to Five like a librarian leading a 10-year-old to the YA section.

The stranger points to a seat in front of a desk for Five to take, then plumps himself behind said desk and shuffles a stack of papers. 

“Let’s see, let’s see. It says here your name is... uh...Five. Just.. just Five. Like the number. Huh. That can’t be right. Must be some sort of clerical error.“

“It’s not.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. It’s not an error. The name is Five." He offers his best fake smile. "Really.”

“Huh, humans sure are hitting the bottom of the barrel in their name choices these days, aren’t they?” He pulls at his bow tie. “Uh, no offense.”

“Some taken.”

The man chuckles. “So, _Five_ , I’m Michael. And you,” he fidgets some more, “I’m so very sorry to say... are dead.” He pauses as if for dramatic effect. 

Five waits for more info. But when none is forthcoming, he responds, “Clearly. And?”

“Oh? Right, yes yes. I usually get more of a reaction out of that announcement but ok, moving on. I have good news, young man —“

Five clenches his jaw but doesn’t interrupt.

“You…. are in The Good Place. You’re a good person, Five. You made it. Congratulations!”

Michael claps twice, then leans back as if admiring his work.

“No.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re wrong.”

“Wrong about wh— excuse me?!”

“No. You’re not excused. You. Heard. Me. You’re wrong. Listen, I’d love to think that I’m a good person but I’m not. I’m objectively not. So you’re either lying or there’s been a mistake on a massively idiotic scale the size of Chernobyl.”

“I—“ Michael sputters but Five puts up a hand, complete with a death glare.

“Either way, don’t congratulate me. I don’t want to be in a place where either some ill-fashioned middle manager is lying straight to my face or ‘heaven’ is designed by a committee of pea-brained dopes who’d let me of all people — a killer, multiple times over — in. So,”

Five stands up, grabs Michael by the bow tie, and yanks forward. “Which is it? Are you a liar, an idiot, or both?”

“I—“ Michael's eyes wander around frantically. “Grace! Grace!”

“Hi, there!”

Five whips around, without releasing Michael even a tiny bit, to find the source of the chipper voice and sees a blonde woman dressed up like a cross between a 50s housewife and an 80s secretary.

“Mom?!”

“Not your mom.”

Five stares. It’s his turn to sputter. “You— I.. how?”

“Gr... ace,” Michael chokes out, body rigid under Five’s hold. “Get... his brother.”

“Sure thing!”

Grace vanishes into thin air with a _ding!_ then, barely two seconds later (before Five has had time to process what Michael just requested), she reappears following the same sound. 

And this time she’s got company. A man sporting a Hawaiian-themed tank top and tight laced-up leather pants stands — or more accurately, appears folded up, like a retired marionette — beside her.

“Klaus?!”

Klaus brightens. He immediately straightens his back and rushes forward, enveloping Five in a hug. “Heyyyy, my littlest-biggest bro! Fancy meeting you here in the afterlife. What’s up?”

“Klaus,” Five swats his brother’s arms and steps backs. “What the fork?”

“What the fork — what? I’m afraid you’ll have to be a little more specific on these matters, brother dear.”

“You’re dead, too?!”

Klaus makes a show of feeling for his pulse, first on his neck, then on both of his wrists, and finally on his chest. “Huh. Seems so. How about you? When and how did you beat it?”

“Klaus, we’re dead. This isn’t a joke. If you don’t take this a tad more seriously, I swear I’ll tear you a new ash-hole.”

“Free plastic surgery? Sweet.”

“Gentlemen,” Michael steps between them and Five realizes that somewhere along the way of speaking to Klaus, he let his grip of the bow tie go. “Please have a seat. I can explain.”

Five growls like a feral senior cat but obliges. “Alright. Talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I claim to have an exact plan for where all of this is going, will it make it true?
> 
> (crosses fingers)
> 
> Ok, I promise I have ~some loose ideas... and by publishing this 'lil chapter now, I'm pressuring myself to come up with more. I just realllllly want to live in the Good Place/Umbrella Academy world a bit longer! If/when a third chapter comes, it'll be soon.


	3. More sons of benches?!?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains some minor spoilers for up to episode 3.4 of The Good Place.

Michael removes his glasses and sighs. “This isn’t actually the Good Place.”

“Course not,” Klaus scuffs. “No way our bastardly Hitler-esque papa would be invited to commune with angels. Besides, and no offense Mikey, but the ‘Good Place’? Really?! That’s a terrible name for heaven. Sounds more like a rundown strip club than—”

“Shut up and let the man talk,” Five says out of the corner of his mouth.

“Right,” Michael looks between the two brothers. “Moving on… you’re actually in the Bad Place.”

“Finally, something that sounds true,” Five says, pinching his nose. 

Klaus blows a raspberry. “Called it!”

“There really is a points system, as I explained to you, Klaus. But, unfortunately, you both ended up with negative points. I’m talking real, real low. It’s impressive really. You—” Michael looks at Five, “are in here primarily for your pesky semi-annual habit of going on murder rampages and you—” Klaus’s turn, “for a mixture of petty thievery, indecent exposure, emotional manipulation, face-spitting, dumpster diving, and liking Hawaiian pizza.” 

“Hey!” Klaus says. “Pineapple on pizza is delicious. I will defend that stance to my death.”

“You have,” Five says before focusing back on Michael. “So, why the lying? Why bother making this seem like the Good Place?”

“Because I’m trying to prove something to my supervisors. I’m trying to prove that humans, even the worst among you, such as yourselves—”

“Muchas gracias,” Klaus says, miming a bow with his hands.

“— That you’re capable of getting better — of becoming more moral, more kind…”

“More gooder?”

“Er, yes… and not because you believe there’s a heavenly reward awaiting you at the end of it all. I believe that humans can get better simply because you want to. Morality for morality’s sake. Goodness for goodness sake. So, by bringing a group of low-point earners together—”

“You mean epic ash-hole fork-ups?” 

“Yes, that… that even when you believe you’ve made it the Good Place, and you think there’s nothing better beyond it, you’ll _still_ strive to be better. If I can prove that humans are capable of habitual change than I can — _we_ can — work to improve the entire afterlife system. No longer will you have to be perfect during your time on Earth to make it in; you can evolve and earn your spot into the Good Place _after_ you’ve died. No more being condemned to the Bad Place for all of eternity. This will be a more flexible system, with the door to the Good Place being capable of unlocking itself for anyone given enough time.”

Klaus and Five remain quiet, processing.

Finally, after nearly a full minute, Five asks, “How do we know what you’re saying _now_ is the truth? That you’re not still deceiving us?”

Michael shrugs. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

Klaus snort-laughs. “Yeah, right. Trust — that’s something us Hargreeves are great at offering, am I right?”

“He has a point,” Five agrees. “We’re going to need more than just your word on this.”

“Huh,” Michael says. “Well, why don’t you ask Grace? She’s incapable of telling a lie. It’s not part of her programming.”

“And how do we know _that_ ’s true?” Five asks.

“Ask her something most people would either lie about or not know.”

Klaus perks up. “Oh, oh, my turn! I've got this, I’ll go!” 

He turns to Grace, who has been standing behind them. “Heyya, not-Mom not-a-robot lady, is Five here in love with a mannequin whom he thinks he lost his virginity to?”

“Yes,” Grace responds, matter-of-factly, “Her name is Delores and he’s actually only been to second base with her.”

“And does Five have tiny hairless balls?”

“Yes.”

Klaus clasps his hands. “Seems truthful to me! Five? Care to confirm?”

Five’s narrowed eyes shoot daggers at his brother but he remains silent.

“What are you gonna do, little Norman Bates?” Klaus taunts. “Murder me? Ha!”

“Grace,” Five says, though he doesn’t blink nor looks away from Klaus. “Does Klaus still sleep nude, cuddled up with a teddy bear?”

“Yes, though not a teddy bear from his childhood. He recently stole a new one from a thrift shop and named it Dave. He frequently cries into its fur.”

Five nods and rubs his hands together. “Ok, ok... so here’s the real question then, Grace. The big kahuna: Is Michael telling the truth? This is the Bad Place but he wants to change the afterlife system and get more people into the real Good Place?”

“Yes, that’s correct. Also, fun fact: teddy bears were named after United States President Theodore 'Teddy' Roosevelt. Roosevelt is in the Bad Place for acting like the Holocaust and Japanese internment camps were no big dealios.”

“Thank you, Grace,” Michael says. “You can leave now.”

She _dings_ out and Michael turns to Klaus and Five. “ _Now_ do you believe me?”

“Yes,” Five says through gritted teeth.

“I, I captain,” Klaus salutes.

“Good. So, here’s the thing: I need your help. I’ve tried running this experiment—”

“Deceptive scheme,” Five corrects.

“Call it whatever you’d like. I’ve tried running it before with other humans — four to be precise. But their progress toward moral goodness, while still ongoing, has been slow and frustrating. They keep figuring out that this is the Bad Place, so I’ve had to restart over and over and over. And now, _whoa boy_ , you two figured it out extremely quickly…”

“Because we’re not total suckers,” Five says. “Or at least, _I’m_ not.” He glares at Klaus, who sticks his tongue out. “I’ll speak only for myself.”

“Yes, yes, you’re both smarter than I bargained for,” Michael says. “But, fortunately, we have more chances. Listen, when the others get here, you have to lie to them. You have to help me convince them that this really is The Good Place so that the experiment can continue on. It’s the only way. I need them to be perfect, uncorrupted test subjects.”

“Who?” asks Five. “Who are these other people?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious? They’re your siblings.”

“Fork,” says Five. “The apocalypse.” 

“Shirt,” says Klaus. “They’ve all died??!”

“Er, yes and no. It wasn’t the apocalypse. Yes, your siblings all died _at some point_ , as humans are prone to doing. But their deaths weren’t recent. It’ll only seem that way — you’ll all arrive here within a few days of each other — because of Jeremy Bearimy.”

“Jeremy Bearimy?" Five asks, "Who's that?

“Think I dated him,” Klaus supplies. “Right, Mikey? British bank teller who made delicious, albeit a bit soggy, blueberry crepes the morning after? Or wait, no no — he was the 7-11 cashier who introduced me to Hawaiian pizza, right?” 

“Shut up about Hawaiian pizza, Klaus,” says Five. “Go on, Michael. Who’s Jeremy Bearimy?”

“It’s not a ‘who’. Jeremy Bearimy is a ‘what’ — a concept illustrating how time works here. Basically, things in the afterlife don’t happen while things are happening on Earth. Because — Grace? Pen and paper?”

“Here you go!” Grace _dings_ back in, hands Michael a pen and a notepad, and _dings_ out again.

“Because,” Michael continues, now scribbling on the notepad, “while time on Earth moves in a straight line, time in the afterlife moves in a” — more scribbling — “Jeremy Bearimy.”

“Huh?” says Five.

“Pfft, and we thought _your_ ramblings about time were wack-a-do, Five,” says Klaus.

Michael tears off the paper he wrote on and passes it to the brothers. On it, there’s a straight horizontal line above the words “Jeremy Bearimy” in loopy cursive.

“In the afterlife,” Michael says, “time doubles back and loops around and ends up looking something like ‘Jeremy Bearimy’. That’s the timeline in the afterlife. Happens to kinda look like the name Jeremy Bearimy in cursive English so that’s what we called it.”

“Got it,” says Five.

“Solid explanation, Mikester,” says Klaus.

“That’s it?!” Michael asks with a chuckle. “No more questions? The few humans I’ve explained this to before have all been much more confused. Their minds were blown.”

“We’ve seen plenty of crazy shirt more unbelievable than that,” says Five.

“Hard to shock anyone once they’ve grown up with a monkey butler,” explains Klaus.

“Right,” Michael clicks his tongue against his mouth. “So, you’ll help me? You’ll go along with the Good Place story in front of the others?”

Klaus lets out a dramatic gasp. “LIE?!…. to our SIBLINGS?!? That’s what you want us to do?? The nerve, the audacity, the sheer—”

“Oh, sorry,” Michael fidgets with his bow tie. “I… I didn’t realize. Is that going to be a problem?”

“Nah, just joshing with you, Mikey. You want us to deceive our siblings for an unspecified period of time regarding the very nature of the reality around them. That’s cool. Got it. Check.”

“Phew, that’s good to hear. You in too, Five?”

“Maybe. If we do all this — if we pretend that our siblings all made it to the Good Place, the real one, and stand patiently by in hopes of them genuinely striving toward moral goodness — then what’s in it for us?”

“A shot at eternal salvation."

“Ok, and...?”

“And?!” Michael laughs awkwardly. “And?! Eternal salvation isn’t enough? I’m talking living it up in the heavenly skies forever, with access to anything your wondrous brains could possibly dream of 24/7/365 — all Jeremy, ever Bearimy. Talking puppies, flying cars, every film ever starring Paul Rudd — in his life and in his death — shown on enormous 4D, smell-o-vision-enabled screens. And pizza! Endless Hawaiian pizza, Klaus!”

“Dave?” Klaus asks, leaning over the desk. “Will he be there?”

“Yes, yes! Well, I mean, probably. I’d work on it. This would at least be your best shot at reuniting.”

Klaus nods. “Fine.”

Michael smiles. “Five?”

“How’s the coffee?”

“In the Good Place?”

“Yes. You haven’t banned caffeine like you’ve apparently forking banned cursing for some gourd-forsaken reason, have you?”

“Oh no! I mean, yes, the Good Place has coffee. All the caffeine you could possibly imagine — cappuccinos, lattes, americanos, cold brews, frozen brews, gaseous brews with invisible whipped cream — you name it, the Good Place has got it. Your search for the perfect cup of coffee can finally be over, Five.”

Five nods, adjusts his blazer, and slaps the table. “Let’s get started. When do our siblings arrive?”

Michael smiles even wider, his jaw opening so far that it appears to become unhinged. “Any minute now. Just—”

There’s a loud knock at the door — three actually.

“Michael?” a feminine voice calls out. “There’s a new arrival in the waiting room.”

“Speak of the devil,” Michael says to Klaus and Five, winking. 

“Goodie,” says Five.

“Oh hark, the angels sing!” says Klaus.

“Which one is it, Eleanor?” Michael calls out.

There’s some soft chatter beyond the door for a minute, then the woman yells back out. “Smokin’ hot Latino. Tight pecs and even tighter booty. Says his name’s Diego. Want me to bring him in or are he and his arms my belated birthday presents?”

“Klaus, Five,” Michael says curtly while standing up and walking toward the door. “Ready to welcome another Hargreeves to the afterlife?”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: My brain is still broken by the dot over the 'i' in Jeremy Bearimy.
> 
> And Eleanor would totally have the hots for Diego, right?! Tell me I'm wrong.


End file.
